Runestone (27 page)

Now he began to see the point. Winter was coming, and its onset would be unpredictable. They dared not undertake the longer journey back to the sea and to Straumfjord at this season. Odin had tried to tell him that, but he had not been completely convinced, until now. But this day had made it easy to see. He watched a wet icicle grow, drop by freezing drop, dangling from a fragment of fiber on the edge of the upturned canoe. Finally he had to admit that this was the best course of action. He did not know the climate or the country, but Odin was one who did. Like it or not, they must take the Skraeling’s advice to have their best chance at survival.

But now, the slush was turning to snow. By noon the ground was nearly white, except for protected areas where trees were thick. Svenson awoke, surprised and a bit alarmed.

“Snow?” he asked.

“It is nothing,” Odin told him. “The ground is warm, and it will go away.”

That prediction proved true. The snow had stopped by midafternoon, and before dark the ground that had been white was merely wet. They gathered armfuls of sodden wood and placed it near the fire to dry for the night fire. The sun actually peeked through the dissipating clouds for a brief while just before night, creating a gorgeous sunset. Nils watched it, wishing for a better view than one through the
trees. A view over the sea, maybe, at the far western horizon. Still, it was a moving experience, and one that held promise.

The blazing display was short, giving way to the chill of a crisp autumn evening. They used their robes, not to sleep but to wrap themselves in for warmth as the meager warmth of the sun’s dying rays began to diminish. Nils had given some thought before to the condition of his apparel. His footwear had worn out and had been replaced with the gift of soft native moccasins. He found that he rather enjoyed them. They were lightweight and comfortable. But his shirt was wearing thin, and would soon be in tatters. The leather tunic that he wore over it would be some protection, and his knee-length fur breeches still had some wear. Nils’s questions to Odin about the customs of his people had been partly to learn of their manner of dress. The conversation had taken other directions, and he still did not know.

Odin himself wore a ragged assortment of garments, but these were largely castoffs from either their recent captors or from the Norse settlement. Nils wanted to ask about the possibilities of winter garments when they reached Odin’s people, but did not know quite how to approach the subject. He drew his robe closer around his neck and shoulders, and resigned himself to some discomfort for the present.

“Do you think there is still danger from the Knife Woman?” asked Svenson as darkness fell.

Nils had not thought of that for some time. They had posted watch each night, but there had been no sign.

Odin seemed to consider for a moment, and finally spoke, slowly.

“I am made to think not,” he said. “By now, she would make another try, or turn back. We have seen nothing, so maybe she gave up and went home.”

“She did not seem the kind to give up,” observed Svenson.

“That is true,” Odin mused. “But would she not have tried again?”

“It seems so. We should keep watch, no?”

“Yes, one should stay awake,” Odin admitted. “But travel would be hard today. That is why we are here. She could not travel either.”

• • •

By contrast, the next day was ideal for travel—clear, crisp, and sunny. Odin seemed pleased with their progress, and his excitement was apparent when they camped for the night. It was understandable, thought Nils. What a thrill, to be coming home, after an absence of several years! How many, had the Skraeling said? Five? It occurred to him that he did not know whether Odin had a family. That thought was a trifle unsettling to him. Was he still thinking of this man as a nonperson?

“Tell us of your family, Odin,” he suggested.

The Skraeling’s one eye widened in surprise.

“Mother, father,” he said simply. “A younger sister. When I left, anyway. Now, I do not know.”

“You have no wife?”

Odin smiled, a little sadly.

“No, never. It is good, maybe. If I had one, she would have remarried by this time.”

There was an aura of sadness that made Nils suspect that there was more to this story. There must have been a girl, a sweetheart, maybe. Odin had never said how he happened to have left his people. Only that he had been captured and was unable to return. Was this part of the story? Had he left
because
of a disappointing romance?

No
, Nils told himself.
I am reading too much into this. Surely, the Skraelings do not have courtships like ours
.

This did not satisfy his curiosity, though. Odin’s remark about a wife having remarried…Maybe that was it! A girl to whom the young man had been very close. Then, in his absence, no matter what its cause … Of course! Any woman in whom Odin had had a romantic interest would surely have married by this time. Five years, or more!

This gave Nils a whole new perspective on the impending homecoming. What a thing of dread this must be, mixed with the joy of reunion. His heart reached out, for the hurt in the heart of his companion. He could not totally relate, because he had never had a serious relationship with a woman. At least, not one of any duration. There had been girls, but none with whom he wished to share his future.

Abruptly, this brought him to thoughts of the blue-eyed Ingrid, wife of the cooper at Straumfjord. That seemed a lifetime ago, now. He had known her only a few days, had never
been intimate with her, but she had had a profound effect on him. He had dreamed of her, sometimes, the lovely curves of her body, the shape of her long legs. The blue of her eyes, deep and full of sadness … He had promised to take her away. Maybe by this time
she
had found someone else. If there were someone who could do what she asked, he was certain that the girl would have gone with him. Nils held no delusions that Ingrid would wait. He wondered whether all women were like that. …Surely not. His parents had always had a steadfast loyalty to each other, so it must be possible.

Nils’s thoughts returned to Odin, and he wondered again if there had been a woman. One like Ingrid, maybe, who had taunted and enticed and then stopped the sequence of events before it went too far. That sort of experience could make a man leave his own town in disgust, not caring whether he ever returned. He might reconsider later, and want to go home, but it would be apparent that such a woman must have
some
man.

These thoughts were becoming depressing, because he wondered now, who shared the bed of the blue-eyed Ingrid tonight?

O
din was becoming increasingly thoughtful as he neared more familiar territory. It had not been easy to sit still, or to sleep from time to time during the enforced day of waiting under the canoe. He had managed to conceal his true feelings from the others. It did not seem appropriate to him to appear as childishly excited as he felt.

Yes, childish. That was it. He had been little more than a
child, he realized, when he last saw his home, friends, and family. He had not seen himself that way, of course. He had thought he was a man. But a man does that, Odin now understood. In the triumphant bloom of youth, he considers himself complete, not realizing his shortcomings. Because he has the strength of his elders, he assumes that he also has their wisdom. It requires some time and some bitter experience to learn that this is not true. Some, he had now learned, never know it. At least, he now understood his limitations. Anyway, he thought so. He no longer took himself so seriously. That, he had decided, is probably a young man’s biggest mistake. Pride.

That is not quite it, either
, he thought. There is a pride that brings self-confidence, and that is good. Pride in heritage, in strength, in accomplishment. Yet there is a pride in self that can become a hindrance, even a danger.
Maybe that is it. Self-importance
, his thoughts continued.

The paddles dipped rhythmically, and the canoe moved upstream. Certainly, his self-esteem was far different than the last time he had traveled this stretch of water, moving away from his people. It was almost embarrassing to think of the mistake that had brought on the tragedy of the past few years.

A quarrel, a simple lovers’ quarrel, and a stubborn refusal on his part to admit that he might have been at least partly at fault. His heart was heavy when he thought of their angry parting. So heavy, in fact, that there had been a time when he thought he would never go home, even if he could. He could not face the shame of his youthful stupidity. That had been some years ago, however, when he still suffered under delusions of self-importance. It had been a gradual thing, the realization that in the fullness of all things, it did not really matter very much. It had taken some severe, ugly, and very painful lessons to arrive at his present way of thinking, and it had not been easy.

It was possible, now, for him to take a certain wry amusement from his earlier mistakes. That had sustained him, sometimes. The one mistake at which he could not smile, however, was the one which had turned his life upside down. He had abandoned the most important things in his young life over a simple thing like hurt pride.
Of course
, he told himself,
I would
have realized it
But of that, he was not certain. How long would it have taken him, he wondered, if he had not been captured? Would his temper, his hurt, have cooled and allowed him to go home, to apologize to Hawk Woman? Even now, there was a spark of anger when he thought of it. She should not have teased him and threatened to marry Old Dog. Even though he had realized long since that it had been a taunt, a thing to make him angry and jealous, it still hurt. She should not have hurt him that way.

As a logical extension of that angry thought came the next, each time he relived the scene.
I should not have told her what she must do
.

“You have no right to tell
me!”
Hawk had hissed at him, eyes flashing fire. “You do not own me. I will do as I wish, and marry who I choose.”

If he had not been so angry at the time, he might have realized that she would not be serious about Old Dog. Dog would eventually find a wife, but certainly one with the desirability of Hawk Woman would not have been interested. Yet this, too, bothered him. Was this idea yet more evidence of his youthful pride, his thinking that he, the man now called Odin, was more important than one with lesser skills, less athletic ability, and less handsome features? He had considered himself superior to Old Dog…even the young man’s name had been a cruel joke by the other boys, he now realized. Dog was not handsome or skilled, and was actually clumsy in his motions. Like…well, like an old dog.

This one question still haunted him, after all the years.
Had
Hawk Woman actually been serious? She had always been a girl with a great instinct for mothering. An injured puppy, a baby bird…any creature in need, it seemed, could count on her help. But
Old Dog?
It had tortured him for years, this question.

He had, in his rage, taken a boat and started downstream. It had been an irrational, possibly stupid thing to do, he now realized, but he wanted only to get away. It had not taken him long to realize, however, that it was not solitude that he sought. It was a desire to disappear, to punish Hawk Woman for her cruelty to him.
She will be sorry
, he vowed.

Soon, he was not even certain of that. Sitting by his lonely
campfire he had come to the conclusion that it was
he
who was now sorry. Hawk Woman was at home with her family, while he shivered in the night’s chill and slapped mosquitoes. And the longer that he stayed away, the more stupid it would make him appear.

He had already decided to turn back, that night so long ago. He had been ready to apologize, to admit that he had been angry and jealous, and that he surely had no right to tell her what she must or must not do. He had decided at his fire that night that with the coming of dawn he would be on the river, going back upstream, to repair the damage to his life that had been caused by pride and jealousy. It was almost at that moment that the chance had been taken from him. The warriors had burst out of the bushes, subdued him quickly, and tied him. He had fought. That, too, was probably a mistake, he now realized. He had managed to inflict enough injury to his attackers to anger them, and the torment and subsequent torture had begun. He was probably fortunate to be alive, even.

These events had destroyed the possibility of reconciliation with Hawk Woman. Probably forever, he knew. There were many times through the years when he was certain that an opportunity would never present itself. He had been carried by ongoing events progressively farther from home.

Until now. The coming of the light-haired Thorsson had somehow begun a time of change. True, there had been some times when it had not seemed good. Each time it was so, however, something good seemed to emerge. Even now, they traveled back toward his people, something that he had almost believed could never happen.